by I’m not saying I’ll never fly long-haul again – but it’s unlikely. My husband Andrew and I are tooting our horns: to end the hassle of air travel and jet hopping and do our part for the planet; and pursue a passion for Europe that will keep us happily ever after until our traveling days are over.
But before we called it quits, there was one country we had to visit again.
It is the country that follows something exciting, quickly motivated to everything strange or strange that happens. In 1983, before parenthood, Andrew and I spent three unforgettable enriching months traveling in India. We were determined to return, this time with our eldest son, Alexander.
I started the journey not with them but with my long-time travel companion Widge, on an almost circular dive into Madhya Pradesh and Uttar Pradesh in the north of the country. Our route took us from Lucknow to Varanasi, Khajuraho, Panna National Park, Orchha and the Chambal Valley. Here, we met Andrew and Alexander, who then joined me on a quieter week, stopping at Agra and Delhi on the way north to Shimla in the Himalayas.
The last time I traveled around India, it was on a tight budget and at times a difficult experience. The poverty we saw – still there but certainly reduced – was hard to bear, the train stations were in pandemonium, and the bureaucracy was getting in the way. We were young and it was fine, but now we are not young and there is no hassle and confusion.
This time, guided by experts and cosseted by a travel company that received, delivered and made all the arrangements, our path was serenely smooth as we plunged into today’s India, economically stronger, modern to fast but still a whirlwind of intoxicating sights, both urban. and countryside, colors, sounds and tastes. Our aim in returning was to remove those feelings and store them away for good.
Scenes to be seen
History, often dramatic, sometimes brutal, seems to sweep across India like a wave, leaving fertile, half-forgotten reminders of dynasties and one-power rulers, especially the British. The wide boulevards, historic buildings and faded grandeur of Lucknow that is often seen can be traced back to the Nawabs of Avadh – patrons of music, dance and culinary arts – and to the British Raj. Among the remains of the Residency, our guide Samir vividly brought the 1857 Siege of Lucknow to life.
That evening, Widge and I went on a lively street-cafe tour of the hectic, hooting lanes of Chowk where we indulged in some of the city’s signature aromatic, slow-cooked specialties: buffalo pasanda, curry nihari and flat, marinated kebabs. . On my last trip, food safety was an issue; not so this time: we ate very well, without any hindrance.
Many temples can be lit up in India, but the cluster of magnificent Hindu and Jain temples at Khajuraho is electrifying. Released from the forest vegetation that had almost overtaken them after a visit from British Army captain TS Burt in 1838, they and their delicate, delicate, blush-inducing erotic carvings now stand in a landscaped park , beautifully restored and a Unesco World Heritage. Location.
In contrast, Orchha, an inlet island oasis of long-abandoned Mughal-influenced structures surrounded by the Betwa River and the wooded countryside beyond, has a rarer air. They capture the imagination, although the village around them, with a venerable Hindu temple, is particularly easy to get to.
And who could forget the Taj Mahal? Forty years ago, Andrew and I stood before it, so young, the future unknown, and here we were again, this time with our grown son who wanted to see it for himself. Its unusual, floating, ethereal and lace-white beauty never disappoints.
Delhi, on the other hand, was disappointed. We now found a city badly polluted and traffic snarled, although an early morning walk in the tortuous lanes of Chandni Chowk, thanks to another great guide, Girish, proved as much a guide in Hindu philosophy as it was factual. Haveli Dharampura, the restored Mughal mansion, made a characteristic historical sanctuary, where we flew kites from the roof at sunset and watched the sport of kaboortar-bazi – pigeon flying – in the morning, as we did with our backpackers’ hosts. ‘ guest house all those years ago. Compared to the budget cut discomfort of 1983, every hotel on this amazing trip felt comfortable without the bubbles of unrealistic luxury, right for its location.
Natural wonders
I love, then, the contrast of city life with rural India. I had never seen a tiger on my previous visit, but I did this time, on a game drive in Panna National Park. It was thrilling, of course, but watching the beautiful landscape, filled with birds and animals wakening gradually and threaded by the Ken River, still in my memory even more than the majestic tiger.
On the banks of the river, we stayed in Sarai tucked-away at Toria, a perfect echo of its natural surroundings. Carefully conceived by wildlife photographer Joanna Van Gruisen and her conservationist husband Dr. Raghu Chundawat, it is a truly relaxing place, where we took a magical morning boat ride, the air full of birds, including many kingfishers.
Mela Kothi – Chambal Safari Lodge – was another great rural spot, which Alexander declared to be the best place he had ever stayed. It’s hard to disagree, for kind local landowners Ram and Anu Pratap Singh they have created a home base for spotting crocodiles and freshwater dolphins on the Chambal River and for bird watching, nature walks and village visits. Alastair felt very happy there, and his photograph of a gharial crocodile now adorns a wall.
Intoxicating colors
The colors of India have stayed with me for 40 years, but I also couldn’t, in the fastest growing major economy in the world, still find them among the sober attire of the emerging middle classes. I needn’t have worried.
Even by Indian standards, Varanasi remains a kaleidoscopic color bomb, bursting with sari pilgrims, orange-clad sadhus and pink priests. Widge and I have been to Lord Shiva’s holy city before and both felt rather withered amidst the sea of people erupting and piles of rubbish, but this time, our stay at the historic Brijrama Palace, recently restored, in the heart of . The action, with our balcony seats facing the light ceremony, turned the experience into something intense and mesmerizing. Who could forget those gates seen from a dawn boat trip?
Back in 1983, we hitched a ride in one of India’s famous painted trucks after our bus broke down. The roads were bad and the driver was scary, but we survived. This time, our transportation was on state-of-the-art trains and chauffeur-driven air-conditioned cars on recently constructed highways. Cows don’t change: they littered the motorway in their sacred imperviousness and we weaved around them, just like before.
Towards the end of our journey, Andrew, Alexander and I found ourselves in a dinky red carriage with silk curtains and a painted ceiling, clattering clattering on its way to Shimla. The Toy Train, which opened in 1903, goes deep into the Himalayan foothills.
Shimla, too, is full of color with its brightly painted houses. What remains of the former summer capital of the Raj can be found in its car-free centre. As we strolled along The Ridge and The Mall from Christ Church to the Cecil Hotel, visiting the 1877 Gaiety Theatre, frozen in time but still going strong, I felt that the development of Shimla, from the first bungalow built in 1822 to the sprawling mountain city of. Today, India’s ever-rolling history is encapsulated.
Eight miles away, on the site of Lord Kitchener’s residence, is Wildflower Hall. Purple umbrellas, edged in yellow, frame the view of snow-capped mountains from the stunning terrace of this exceptional hotel, a wonderfully relaxing and decadent final stop. It was a long way from our last days in India in 1983, when I was lying in a clinic in Shimla, sick as a dog.
Little did I know then that I was pregnant as well as a severe version of the normal pregnancy. Nine months later, our lives changed. Alexander was born with autism and developmental delay and lives at home, where he loves playing the keyboard, making models, cycling and taking photos. Despite these joys, it has been a lonely road at times as he struggles to fit into the neurotypical world. By bringing it into India, we somehow felt that we were squaring a circle. It was one of the reasons we had to go back.
Fundamentals
Fiona Duncan was a guest of Ultimate Travel (theultimatetravelcompany.com), which offers a 15-night trip to Northern India, including accommodation, private transfers, guides and international flights from £5,490pp. Her bespoke itinerary costs from £5,985pp, including B&B accommodation (full board at Sarai at Toria), two exclusive Jeep safaris in Panna National Park, private tours with local guides, rail flights, domestic and international flights.
